Boys' Night Out
by Tex-chan
Summary: Sometimes, a night out on the town can test the limits of your friendship, especially if a bar fight and its associated mayhem are the result.


_Author's Note: This is a bit of odd randomness I wrote in response to a fanfic challenge. The challenge: "Aya" and "dog poo". Yeah … it was a tough one for me. But, hopefully, this will provide a fun read. If nothing else, it's mercifully short._

_Legal Stuff: As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it._

**Boys' Night Out**

"I think we lost them … finally," Yohji panted. "Crap, but they were some persistent bastards."

He slowed from a run into a jog, and, after a few minutes, eased into a normal walk, keeping pace and blending in with the pedestrian traffic around them on the crowded sidewalk. He glanced over his shoulder as he spoke, giving his companion a crooked grin. Maybe he was trying to gauge his partner's mood, or, maybe, he had hoped for some kind of reply to his comment -- some sort of agreement that, why, yes, the policemen they had just eluded were persistent damn bastards, but they had gotten away thanks to the grace, charm, and clever wit of Yohji Kudou. But, whatever reaction or comment he had expected or hoped for wasn't there. Aya just glared back at him, his eyes narrowing the tiniest bit to indicate how displeased he was with the whole situation.

Yohji rolled his eyes heavenward and huffed out a disgusted-sounding sigh, illustrating, in no uncertain terms, just how he felt about Aya's current pissy mood. Ignoring the return smirk from his partner, Yohji turned his attention back to the sidewalk ahead of him. He spared a glance for his watch. Not quite eleven PM. He figured it was the perfect time to ditch the cops in this area of town, considering the sidewalks were overflowing with the normal mix of partiers, club hoppers, and average folks just out for a late evening stroll.

Yohji nodded in satisfaction as he continued to thread his way through the crowd, gently elbowing past the people pressing against him, and dragging Aya along in his wake. He would have preferred to push through the crowd like a bull, scattering people in his path. For one thing, doing so would satisfy the pent-up irritation and anger building inside him. For another, he was feeling antsy and exposed out here, and shoving his way though the masses would get them out of this area that much faster. But, it wouldn't do to attract too much attention, especially not considering their current attachment.

A slight tug on the metal bracelet encircling his wrist and the chain attaching his handcuff to Aya's told him his partner had gotten a bit stuck in the press of people Yohji had left behind him. He slowed a little, until Aya caught up and the pressure on his wrist eased. No, their best bet was to blend in -- work through the crowd and hide in plain sight until they could resolve this predicament enough to go home.

As he sidestepped a woman who had stopped to window shop, Yohji realized he was almost as mad at Aya as he was at the situation. He would have given almost anything to turn around and punch his partner in the face at that moment. But, Yohji figured that would attract too much attention, too. So, he contented himself by fuming over Aya's mood while he continued to thread his way through the crowd, dragging his silent companion along for the ride, like so much irritated, pissy dead weight.

So, Aya was unhappy. Big whoopity-do. Maybe later, Yohji would manage to work up a bit of concern over that fact, but, right now, he felt like he had just stepped in a huge pile of karmic dog poo. And, he had the aches and pains to prove it, which meant he was too busy mentally bitching about his own problems to spare any attention for Aya's issues.

Yohji paused at a corner. He was careful to stay out of the glow of the overhead streetlight as he glanced up and down sidewalk lining the cross street. After a few moments, he spotted exactly what he needed -- a couple of ladies of the evening, plying their trade a few blocks down. He headed off in that direction, giving his handcuffed arm a sharp jerk as Aya lagged behind.

The pull on his trapped arm told Yohji, in no uncertain terms, that his partner did not want to be out here on the crowded sidewalk. He would have put it down to Aya's bad mood, but one glance back told him it wasn't that. Sure, Aya was mad. But, more than that, he was nervous about being out here in the open. He felt exposed and uncertain, and he wanted nothing more than to keep to the shadows and darker alleys. Yohji understood that feeling. In his heart, he shared it. They were creatures of the dark, after all. But, for now, hiding in the open was necessary.

'Come on, Aya,' Yohji thought, 'Just follow along. Just a few more minutes now, and we'll be home free.'

Yohji jerked his arm again. He felt the tug and pull as Aya hesitated and drifted sideways, toward one of the nearby alleys, and he closed his eyes for a few seconds, praying that Aya would come along without any fuss. Aya was already strung tighter than a rubber band, and Yohji knew he was right on the verge of allowing his stubborn tendencies to get the better of him. Not a freak out sort of thing -- Aya was too cool and collected for that. But, "agreeable" hadn't ever been one of Aya's strongest personality traits. So far, he had gone along with Yohji's course of action, but Yohji sensed Aya was quickly nearing the end of his patience. He couldn't help but sigh under his breath in relief when he felt the pull on the handcuff slacken, indicating Aya was still following along behind him.

Yohji waved to a group of five or six prostitutes as he and Aya crossed the street. As they approached, two of the women broke away and met them at the edge of the sidewalk.

It only took Yohji a moment or two of sweet talking to divest one of the women of a nail file. With a wink and a jaunty little wave, Yohji moved away from the group of prostitutes, ducking into the first alleyway that presented itself. He was glad to be out of the open. Aya didn't say anything, but the relief he felt radiating off of his partner was almost palpable. It told him Aya felt the exact same way.

With a sigh, Yohji sank to the ground, using some of the alley's deeper shadows for cover. A sharp tug at the cuffs and chain connecting them assured that Aya would sit down too, although he wasn't too happy about it and made sure Yohji knew that. Yohji rolled his eyes and shook his head in response to the entirely put-out expression on Aya's face. Thankfully, the reaction was enough to keep Aya from voicing any complaints he might have. Not that Aya was a complainer. He wasn't. But, at that moment, Yohji had the strong feeling he would haul off and slug the younger man, no matter what Aya said. He guessed he wasn't alone in this sentiment, judging from the way Aya gave him that narrow-eyed frown of displeasure, which was an all-too-familiar expression, and, then, looked away, toward the other end of the alley.

With an almost inaudible sigh, Yohji began working on the lock. It wasn't a complicated mechanism, and it wouldn't be hard to pick. But, he didn't have the best tools to work with, so he figured it would take a few minutes. Yohji cursed under his breath, berating himself for leaving his lock picks at home. But, they had only been going out for a couple of drinks. How the hell could he have known they'd get stuck in the middle of a bar fight and, then, arrested? Still …

'Note to self: Lock picks. Don't leave home without 'em,' Yohji thought.

He was surprised at how tired he suddenly felt, and he couldn't help but wonder if, maybe, he was getting just a little too old for this kind of thing. It was a fleeting thought, and Yohji shook his head a little, doing his best to force the random idea out of his brain. Like hell he was too old. He lived for this kind of shit. There was no denying that. Tonight had just been a little more strenuous than he was used to.

Aya muttered, "I'm too old for this crap."

Yohji jumped a little, surprised at the sound of Aya's deep, baritone voice sounding out of the murky half-light, so close by. Not that he had forgotten Aya was there. How could he, when he was picking the lock on his half of the handcuffs that bound them together, a move that forced Aya into extremely close quarters with him -- leaning against his side, his hand resting on Yohji's thigh.

"Do you **have** to breathe on me?" Yohji asked, his fingers pausing for a second as he turned to glare at Aya.

Aya gave him an eyebrows-raised expression of disbelief.

"No," he replied, his voice taking on the dead-pan, almost-bored tone it always did when his mood escalated from "irritated" to "all-out pissed off". "I guess I could just hold my breath until I turn blue and pass out. Would that satisfy you?" He paused a second before muttering, under his breath, "And you say **I'm** a pissy prima donna."

"Ha, ha," Yohji replied, as he resumed fiddling with the lock. "I'm just saying," he continued, "This would all go a lot faster if you stopped breathing down my freaking neck. It gives me the willies, that's all. Besides, I never said you were a prissy prima donna. That was Ken. **I** said you were an uptight bastard."

Aya didn't reply, which bothered Yohji, just a little. He had expected some sort of snarky come-back. It was the way they always did things, the way they kept life normal between the two of them. When Aya said nothing, Yohji had the sinking feeling he might have gone too far. Considering the mood Aya was in, and the evening they had had, maybe he had hurt Aya's feelings. He glanced over, trying to gauge Aya's reaction. But, other than looking tired and more than a little sore, Aya's expression revealed nothing. Yohji frowned and returned to picking the lock, all the while thinking this would be a lot easier if he could use both hands, instead of fumbling around with one.

"Crap, I could really use a cigarette," Yohji muttered.

"Lock, now. Cigarette later," Aya snapped.

Yohji paused in his lock picking efforts, long enough to give Aya a searching, questioning glance. "Why the hell're you in such a bad mood, anyhow?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know … let me see. Why in the world would I be in a bad mood?" Aya replied, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

"All right, let's not go there. You really don't do sarcasm very well," Yohji commented. "Anyhow," he continued, "Quit your bitching. You're alive, aren't you? That's what counts."

Aya sighed. "That guy broke a chair over my back. That fucking hurt, you know."

Yohji nodded, an absent-minded gesture that indicated he was only half listening to his partner's complaints, and mumbled, "Hell, yeah. I bet it did."

After a second, the meaning behind Aya's statement seemed to sink in, and Yohji paused for a moment, his hand stilling over the lock as he stared at Aya, "Wait a fucking minute. You saying this was my fault?"

"Nothing would have happened if you hadn't punched that one guy in the face," Aya replied, his tone of voice indicating that this, of course, explained everything.

Yohji shook his head in disbelief before returning his attention to the lock on his handcuff.

"You've got some fucking nerve," he muttered, almost under his breath. "That guy was totally hitting on you."

"So? What did you care? It's not like we were on a date or anything," Aya said.

Yohji stopped fooling with the lock, his hand hovering in the air above the mechanism, and stared at Aya, a mixture of shock and disbelief written on his face.

"Uh … W… wait a m… minute," Yohji stammered. He paused, long enough to take a deep breath and regain his slipping composure, before continuing, "You **wanted** that guy to hit on you? I mean, are you …?"

His sentence trailed off, unfinished, the thought hanging in the air between the two men for a fraction of a second, before Yohji followed up with a hurried, "I m…. mean … you know. It's no big deal if you are. I mean, I don't give a shit. I just never thought that, you know. I mean, not that I care. Or anything."

"Good fucking grief," Aya snapped, cutting Yohji's uncomfortable stammering off short. "I'm not. That's not what I was saying." He sighed, a disgusted-sounding huff of air through his nostrils, and muttered, "Forget it," as he jerked his hand away.

Aya's irritated gesture had the unfortunate side effect of taking Yohji's arm with him, since they were still handcuffed together. Yohji yelped in protest, and jerked his arm backward, pulling Aya right back into the position he had just sought to vacate a second before.

"Sit still, you shit," Yohji snapped, glaring at Aya. "I'm never gonna get this done if you keep hopping around like that."

He worked in silence for a few minutes, before Aya sighed and said, "You didn't have to hit the guy. You could have just ignored him."

"Nope. Sorry," Yohji replied, shaking his head. "If you remember correctly, he wasn't just propositioning you. He had a knife … which makes it more of a threat than a come on … or did you conveniently forget that little fact?"

"He wasn't a threat," Aya replied.

Yohji just shrugged, never looking up from the lock he was still trying to pick.

"So, if the same, drunk-off-his-ass guy had hit on Ken or Omi in the same obnoxious manner, you're saying you still would've punched him? That you only went after him because he had a knife?" Aya asked.

Yohji didn't reply, but his frown, barely visible in the alley's shadowy, gray light, told Aya all he needed to know.

"Yeah. I thought so," Aya said, a note of smugness creeping into his voice.

"All right, fine," Yohji replied. "So, if the guy hit on Ken, no, I wouldn't do shit about it. Other than, maybe, watching Mr. Super Jock squirm around and laughing at his reaction to it. And, well, no one would hit on Omi. I mean, come on, man, that's just sick."

Aya sighed and nodded his agreement at Yohji's last statement.

"I don't need …" Aya began, after a few moments of silence had passed between them.

"I know," Yohji replied, cutting Aya's statement off before it really began. "I know you don't need me … or anyone … to defend you. I just … I saw that guy, with the knife on you, and … I just lost it. So, fucking sue me or something. But, don't sit there and bitch at me for being overprotective. It's saved your life more than once, but I suppose you've forgotten all about that, too."

Yohji glared at Aya until the younger man looked away, unwilling to meet his angry gaze any longer.

"Yeah," he snorted, "Thought so. Besides, you're the one who hit the other guy, and that's what caused all hell to break loose."

"The other guy was throwing a bottle at your head," Aya replied.

"So?" Yohji asked. "I coulda ducked."

Aya sighed and rolled his eyes toward the overhead light mounted on the wall above them. "Yeah, right," he countered. "But, you're the one who kicked that woman in the face."

Yohji paused for a second, replaying the bar fight in his mind. He remembered kicking someone in the face -- a very large person, probably over six feet tall, and topping the scale at 250 or 300 pounds, who had been coming up on Aya from behind, ready to bust a chair over his head.

"That was a woman?" he asked.

When Aya nodded, Yohji muttered, "Da-amn. I … didn't realize that, in the heat of the moment." He shuddered a little and returned to working on the lock. "Well, I stopped her from busting a chair over your head, so you should be grateful."

Aya frowned. "Yeah, except the next guy behind her busted it over my back."

"Your back. Not your head," Yohji replied, as if this made all the sense in the world. "Anyhow, we never woulda gotten arrested if you hadn't cold-cocked the bartender with that vodka bottle."

"He had a gun," Aya replied.

His voice went whisper-quiet, as he remembered how he had looked up to see the bartender taking aim on Yohji's back. Yohji had been oblivious to it, caught up in the moment of fending off three other attackers. It still scared him, when he thought about how close Yohji had come to dying in such a stupid way. Not that there was any good way to die, but for an assassin like Yohji, being taken out in a bar brawl by some idiot bartender with a gun just seemed obscene. Aya couldn't help but wish he could hunt the barkeep up and beat on him a bit more, just for having the nerve to point a gun at his friend.

Yohji stared at Aya. "No shit?" he asked.

"No shit," Aya replied.

Yohji was quiet for a moment or two, digesting this new bit of information. He shook his head -- a small gesture of disbelief -- as he gave the nail file a final twist. The lock sprung open with a small, metallic-sounding click, and the handcuff opened, falling off of Yohji's wrist.

He grabbed Aya's wrist in one hand and worked the lock on the remaining cuff with the other. Three quick jerks of the nail file, and Aya's handcuff, also, sprang open. The set of cuffs fell to the ground with a metallic clatter. Aya stared to pull away, but Yohji didn't let go of his wrist.

"Thanks," Yohji said, giving Aya's wrist a gentle squeeze before releasing him. "You … you really saved my shit. I didn't know that guy had a gun."

Aya rubbed at his sore wrist and shifted around, so that he was sitting farther away from Yohji and leaning against the wall.

"It's okay," he replied. "You did the same for me. I really didn't like that guy hitting on me. Not to mention the knife."

They looked at each other for a moment or two, and, then, both started laughing at the same time. After a few minutes, Yohji managed to bring his laughter under control. He swiped at a tear that had leaked out from behind his sunglasses, and leaned back against the wall, feeling the roughness of cool, hard brick behind his head.

"So," he said, with a small sigh, "What'dya think? Wanna go out again tomorrow?"

Aya seemed to think about this for a moment before nodding his agreement.

"Sure," he replied. "But, I pick the bar next time."

Yohji laughed. "Fair enough."

**end**


End file.
